


Thump, Thump, Thump

by pimpmypaws



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse of IKEA Furniture, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pimpmypaws/pseuds/pimpmypaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the kink meme:<br/>John and Sherlock do something completely innocent and to people who listen in it sounds like they're doing naughty things.</p><p>Alternatively, John and Sherlock have the filthiest most shameless sex, and listeners-in can't believe that they're doing what it sounds like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thump, Thump, Thump

Thump, thump, thump.

"I didn't think you needed a hammer for IKEA furniture?" Lestrade said, glancing awkwardly at Mrs. Hudson.

The long-suffering landlady was perched on the edge of the sofa, smiling kindly at Lestrade. He stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, tipping back and forth on the balls of his feet. He'd been there for fifteen minutes pretending desperately to Mrs. Hudson that he believed they were just building furniture, but he didn't know how long he could keep it up. 

"Not so hard!" John shouted. The thump, thump, thump quieted.

Lestrade stared at the wallpaper on the opposite side of the room from Sherlock's bedroom door. To be honest, the pattern was rather ugly, but at the moment he studied it as though it were the most interesting wallpaper he'd ever come across. It required great scrutiny for sure.

The continued banging noise brought his attention back to the closed bedroom door just as he heard someone grunt. A quick glance over at Mrs. Hudson revealed that she apparently thought nothing of it. One of her feet swung gently through the air. Lestrade was sure she had enough imagination to figure out what was going on in there. Did her lack of concern mean this was a common occurrence? Did they routinely make a racket of it in the middle of the day while their landlady was about?

"That's the wrong angle," John said loudly. God, didn't those two have indoor voices?

Lestrade's eyes were drawn to a stain near his left shoe. Usually pondering anything like the cause of a mysterious stain in this flat would only lead places he didn't want to be, but today it seemed like a fabulous idea. Probably not just coffee, knowing Sherlock. Blood, possibly, or maybe someone once stepped on a kidney or something.

He glanced back up as Mrs. Hudson finally stood and started towards the stairway.

"They shouldn't be long," she said, still smiling in that calm way of hers. "But you know how those flat-pack desks can be."

Lestrade nodded and looked back at the stain. Hopefully it wasn't really the remains of a vital organ. Or, hopefully it wasn't the remains of a human vital organ. Lestrade shook his head slightly at himself. God, when had that started to seem like a reasonable compromise?

The thumping abruptly ceased at the same time that Sherlock's voice came from behind the door, sounding angry and frustrated. 

"Why did you stop me?" He practically shouted.

"Because it's bloody not working!" John shouted in response, then, more quietly. "I need a cup of tea."

Lestrade wanted to sink through the floor as he heard footsteps approaching the door. In the split second between when the doorknob turned and when John Watson appeared in the doorway his brain flashed through several possibly things to say. They all fled as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Oh," John said, looking surprised but no more rumpled or embarrassed than he usually did. "Er, been here long?"

Lestrade nodded miserably, looking anywhere but at John. Stain. Ugly, fascinating wallpaper. Oh God, John's slightly crooked jumper.

"Yeah, look, I just need to talk to Sherlock for a minute," he finally said, forcing his voice to sound normal. 

John just jerked his thumb in the direction of the bedroom before starting off for the kitchen. "Don't mind him," he called back over his shoulder. "He's in one of his moods."

Taking a moment to brace himself, Lestrade approached the doorway and pushed the door open wider. His eyes immediately went to the bed, which he was surprised to find was neatly made. That had to have been John's doing. Next his eyes dropped to the detective sitting in the middle of the floor. In the middle of a pile of cardboard and particleboard. There was a hammer on his lap and he was scowling slightly at a large, complicated diagram spread out on the floor in front of him.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, not looking up at Lestrade, who, for his part, was frozen in the doorway.

Forgetting entirely to keep the surprise out of his voice, Lestrade laughed, "You're building a desk?!"


End file.
